


Blown Glass

by purewhitepage



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewhitepage/pseuds/purewhitepage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Emily, he would stomach a deep fried Oreo—but wine slushies would be crossing a line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blown Glass

**Author's Note:**

> A lot more fluffy than I usually write. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

“You call this food?”  
  
Emily’s laugh was almost lost in the crowd, but Dave could make out the tinkling sound even through the static. He had come accustomed to it, savoring every single time he was allowed to hear it. Unfortunately, it was never often enough; not in their line of work. Laughter didn’t come easily in the BAU.   
  
“These are deep fried Oreos, and they are _delicious_ ,” Emily said. She was clutching a paper basket with six little golden lumps nestled inside, coated in powdered sugar. They looked like they could stop his heart in one bite.   
  
“I’ll have to take your word on this one,” Dave teased, eying the picnic table that Emily had led him to. There were a few other people sitting on the opposite bench, enjoying their own generous portions of fried food. The table looked like it had seen better days. And maybe like it could use a power wash.   
  
They sat down, pressed close in the limited space, and Dave could smell the faint scent of lavender clinging to Emily’s skin.   
  
“You mean you don’t _want_ one?” She asked after a moment, eyes flashing mischievously as she waved a deep fried nightmare in his face.  
  
Dave promptly wrinkled his nose. “Do I have to?”  
  
“It would make me happy.”   
  
“Well, that’s all I need to know then.”  
  
Leaning forward, Dave took a bite, surprised at how much the Oreo did _not_ taste like an Oreo. It was a little baffling.   
  
Emily grinned, finishing the Oreo herself and licking the powdered sugar off of her fingers. “You don’t like it, do you?”  
  
The sun was beating down on them hard, obnoxiously hot for August in Upstate New York. It was supposed to be cooler here, but it was turning out to be just as bad as Virginia. Less humid, maybe, but definitely not what Dave had expected when the team had taken a case in the area last week. He had been hoping for a break from the sweltering climate of Quantico.   
  
“I wouldn’t say I _dislike_ them, exactly,” Dave said. Emily was still grinning at him, and it made him feel lighter and younger than he had in years. When she had first insisted they visit the New York State Fair before heading home the next day, he had been less than thrilled. Big groups of sweaty people, terrible food, questionably built amusement park rides; not exactly his scene.   
  
However, he was having fun. Even though Emily had teased him mercilessly about the pair of khaki shorts he had chosen for the occasion—he knew she secretly liked them. It was clear in her brown eyes when she looked at him.   
  
“Would you at least consent to a drink?” Emily asked, interrupting his thoughts. She had polished off the last of the Oreos, and was watching Dave carefully as she crumpled up a napkin to toss in the trash.   
  
“Depends on what it is,” Dave quipped, glancing around them at the many stands peddling half-priced wine slushies.   
  
For Emily, he would stomach a deep fried Oreo—but wine slushies would be crossing a line.   
  
“Well, I doubt I’ll find any aged scotch between the lemonade stand and the bottle toss, but I’ll see what I can do.” Emily stood up from the picnic table, running the palms of her hands over her thighs and brushing off any remaining powdered sugar clinging to her jeans.   
  
Dave watched her walk away with a small smile on his face, feeling incredibly lucky that Emily Prentiss enjoyed his company enough to take him along to an overcrowded state fair. They hadn’t been together very long; a few months of coffee dates and trips to the movies, nights in curled up on Dave’s couch with a glass of wine and modern jazz playing over the stereo.   
  
The beers that Emily brought back were brimming over with foam, slopping frothy and wet onto her fingers as she picked her way across the uneven ground back towards the table.   
  
“Coors light,” she said, setting a plastic cup full of lukewarm beer down in front of Dave. “Draft was on special for two bucks a pop. Good deal, right?”  
  
Shaking his head slightly, Dave watched as Emily took a long pull of her drink, foam sticking to her upper lip.   
  
There should never be that much foam in a glass of beer.   
  
Dave chanced it anyway, picking up the flimsy plastic cup and taking a sip. It tasted like water. Why would anyone ever drink this on purpose?   
  
“Not a fan of that either, I see,” Emily said, running her fingers idly through the condensation gathering at the sides of her cup. She looked beautiful, even in jeans and a tank top, hair pulled back into a messy bun and piled on top of her head. Dave thought he could look at her all day and never grow tired.   
  
Hopefully, Emily was starting to feel the same way. He didn’t want to rush her; Dave was well aware of their age difference, of how young Emily was and how much life she still had ahead of her. Unlike him, she might not be ready to jump right into so much commitment.   
  
It was fine; Dave could wait.   
  
“I’m hoping you’ll enjoy what’s next on the agenda more than you did our snack break,” Emily said.   
  
Taking another sip of his beer and trying to ignore the watery, nutty flavor on his tongue, Dave raised his brows. “And what’s next on the agenda?”  
  
Emily’s grin widened even more. “The Tilt-A-Whirl, of course.”  
  
Dave groaned. He hadn’t been on an amusement park ride since they were called _carnivals,_ and a bag of cotton candy had been a quarter.   
  
The Tilt-A-Whirl was located on the Midway, all the way on the other side of the fair. Dave and Emily made the most of their walk, lacing their fingers together as they stopped to look at the many kiosks of handmade jewelry and pottery, heavily scented wax candles that made Dave’s nose itch when Emily shoved them in his face with a disgusted _,_ _“here, smell_ this _one.”  
  
_ Emily ended up falling in love with a little blown-glass octopus, orange and delicate as it swung from a thick black necklace cord.   
  
As soon as she wandered over to the next kiosk, her attention drawn towards a woman demonstrating a watercolor landscape painting, Dave bought it for her. He tucked the little octopus into his pocket, nestled in a thin sheet of tissue paper so that it wouldn’t break on the Tilt-A-Whirl Emily was about to drag him on.   
  
“See anything you like?” Dave asked casually as he ambled up behind her, hand still in his pocket and fiddling with the black cord sticking out of the paper.   
  
“Mm, they’re all beautiful,” Emily said, eyes flicking to him and then back to the paintings. “Unfortunately I don’t think we could fit one of these on the rides with us.”  
  
“That’s probably a correct assumption,” Dave said wryly, reaching out to take Emily’s hand in his own again. “Which brings me to my next question; do you really think it’s good idea to fill me up with fried food and cheap beer and spin me around in circles at warp speeds?”  
  
His tone was teasing, and Emily snorted loudly as she tugged him towards the Midway. Dave spotted the ride almost immediately—it was painted bright purple, a faded drawing of a cyclone on the sign in front. There were only five other people in line; even with school being out, the place was deserted on a Wednesday afternoon.   
  
“I think you’ve handled much more formidable opponents than a glass of Coors and a spin on the Tilt-A-Whirl, Agent Rossi,” Emily said as they got in line. The purple carts were slowing down, indicating that the current ride was over and they were up next.   
  
Dave’s stomach flip-flopped as they handed over their tickets and loaded into a cart, making him feel utterly foolish. It had certainly been a long time since he’d been on an amusement park ride of any kind, but there was absolutely no reason to be afraid of the _Tilt-A-Whirl.  
  
_ If Emily noticed his nerves, he would never hear the end of it.   
  
The ride started to move, and they were immediately pushed flush together in one corner of the seat, the momentum of the ride building speed pinning them to one another.   
  
The breeze brought on by the ride was welcome respite, cooling them off as they clutched tightly to the wheel and began to spin.   
  
“Faster!” Emily urged, her hair now hanging down around her shoulders as the wind knocked the bun off of her head. She was clearly enjoying herself, hair whipping around her face. Every time she glanced over at Dave she had such a clear expression of blissful abandonment that he wanted to keep Emily on the Tilt-A-Whirl with him forever.   
  
He had never seen her let go quite like this before. It was nothing short of amazing.   
  
Without responding—it was difficult to hear over the music and the grinding gears of the ride itself—Dave tightened his grip on the wheel and started to spin them around in earnest, so fast that their cart was whining in protest.   
  
Much to Dave’s displeasure, he could feel the beer sloshing in his stomach, taste it in the back of his throat as they spun around.   
  
Now, if he threw up on Emily? _That_ he would never hear the end of, not only from her but from the whole team. There was no way Emily would pass up a chance to tell the tale of how Dave couldn’t handle his beer and barfed all over her mid-spin.   
  
Emily was pressed snug against his side as he kept the ride going, spinning until it stopped and then some. It was still rocketing around after everyone else’s carts had already started to slow.   
  
“Wow,” Emily said, scooting over a little so that she wasn’t crushed beneath Dave’s arm. “That was fun; I haven’t done that in far too long. How about you? Did you enjoy yourself?”  
  
“Oh, sure,” Dave said flippantly, a teasing note in his voice, “I love getting whiplash before noon. Really sets the tone for the rest of the day.”  
  
“Please,” Emily said in a gust of breath, reaching out and smacking Dave lightly on the side, “you had fun. Don’t deny it.”   
  
“Well,” Dave said after a moment, his voice gone softer now that he didn’t have to shout over the sound of creaking gears. He reached up and ran gentle fingers through Emily’s hair, catching a little on the tangles the wind had whipped into it, “I had fun watching your face light up like that. Definitely worth being full of beer and then shaken up like a bottle of pop.”   
  
That captured Emily’s attention, and she made a soft sound of approval before leaning over and pressing a kiss to Dave’s lips.   
  
It was unexpected, and it caught him off guard at first, but Dave quickly adapted and let his fingers slide further into Emily’s hair, around the back of her head as he ran the strands between his fingertips.   
  
The kiss was quick—it had to be, the teenaged ride operator was staring at them with something between disgust and irritation—but it was perfect. Every kiss with Emily was perfect, warm lips against his, slightly chapped from the wind.   
  
Emily pulled back, hands resting against Dave’s chest as she searched his face. “Are you ready for the drop tower?”  
  
By the time they had ridden nearly every ride in the fair, eaten their way through sausage sandwiches piled high with peppers and onions, and gone in all of the buildings to see the butter sculpture and the rabbits, Dave was sure they were both about to drop from exhaustion. Emily in particular, who was ambling along next to him and holding a very melted blue Sno-Cone in one hand.   
  
She looked like she was about to drop it all over the pavement.   
  
“I’ll take that,” Dave said, reaching out and snatching it away just in time to save someone from cleaning up a huge blue mess right outside the entrance to the fair. It started to melt over his hands, and he grimaced before dumping it in the nearest trash can.   
  
“I was still eating that, you know,” Emily said, a slight pout to her voice.   
  
“No you weren’t, you’re asleep on your feet,” Dave chided, tone warm and amused and he caught the perturbed expression on her face. Reaching out between them, he took Emily’s hand in his and laced their fingers together once more. “We aren’t far from the car; the shuttle will take us right where we need to be, okay?”  
  
Emily yawned, making a little non-committal sound at the back of her throat as she did so. Even in the darkness—they had stayed long enough for the sun to have set—Dave could see the way Emily’s eyelids drooped heavily.   
  
Probably too much sun. Too much fried food and beer, as well.   
  
The shuttle pulled up to the curb only a few minutes later, Dave still holding tightly to Emily’s hand as they waited. There weren’t many people waiting with them, and the shuttle was empty, so they took two seats at the back and rode in silence to the parking lot a few miles away.   
  
It stayed silent, comfortably so, even as they climbed into the government-issue SUV and Dave edged them out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The hotel the team was staying at wasn’t far, located centrally in the city of Syracuse.   
  
“I had a lot of fun today,” Dave started after about ten minutes of driving, keeping his eyes on the road. He wasn’t exactly sure of their route, and he didn’t want to get them lost. “I’m glad you invited me along. Even if you had to drag me at first.”   
  
Emily didn’t respond, and Dave tore his eyes away from the road to glance at her. She was slumped in the seat, head rolled to the side as she slept.   
  
The sight made Dave’s heart clench; he was incredibly flattered that Emily felt safe enough to sleep in his presence. As agents in the BAU, that simple sign of trust said a lot. Considering all of the personal attacks on the BAU over the years, any sort of trust was in short supply in the team.   
  
Not wanting to wake his sleeping companion, Dave kept the radio to a quiet hum of background noise as he drove through the empty streets back to their hotel. Luckily, he didn’t take any wrong turns, and they were pulling into the parking garage before long.   
  
He really didn’t want to wake her. She looked so peaceful.   
  
“Emily,” Dave said softly, reaching over and giving her arm a little shake. “We’re here. Which means you can have a proper bed if you can just make it to the third floor.”   
  
A muffled sound of irritation signaled to him that Emily was indeed waking up, and so Dave gathered up his jacket and the plush tiger that he had won Emily playing a water game and got out of the car. Rounding to the passenger side, Dave opened the door and offered his hand.   
  
Emily accepted, still bleary-eyed and foggy, and together they trundled across the pavement and into the hotel. Dave heavily suspected she was still half-asleep, considering the way he had to guide her into the elevator and down the hall to her hotel room. It was between JJ’s and his own, with Aaron and the rest of the team across the hall.   
  
Everyone else was either out, or had gone to bed, because Dave couldn’t see any light leaking from beneath the doors—except of course for Spencer, who would always prefer to stay in and work on the case, relax with a book or curl up and watch a movie before drifting off to sleep.   
  
They all had different ways of decompressing after a case. Especially a difficult case. Dave would bet money that Derek was down in the bar, having a beer and chatting up the people sitting with him.   
  
Emily fumbled with her wallet for a few moments before pulling out her keycard and sliding it into the lock, letting both herself and Dave into the room. Her things were still in suit cases, sitting next to the bed. Unlike the rest of them, Emily never bothered putting her things in drawers for the week or so that they would be in town on a case.   
  
For Dave, it said a lot. And it was an interesting insight into her life.   
  
Still yawning, Emily plopped down on the edge of the bed and started tugging her boots off. She looked like she was about to drop.  
  
When Emily finally looked up at him, Dave was sure she was about to ask him to leave.    
 _Sorry to kick you out, but it was a long day and we have to be on the jet bright and early…  
  
_ “Do you want to stay for a little while? Maybe have a drink?” Emily asked instead, surprising Dave.   
  
“That sounds great, sure,” he said, before heading over to the mini fridge and opening the door. Little airplane bottles of liquor stared back at him, and he grabbed two whiskey’s—whiskey was usually a safe bet.   
  
It bothered him a little bit that he didn’t know what Emily liked to drink.   
  
“This okay?” Dave asked as he filled two rocks glasses with ice and whiskey, glancing over at her from the table. She was lounged back on the bed, remote in hand as she flipped through channels.   
  
“That’s fine. Come watch bad late night TV with me.”  
  
Unable to suppress a pleased smile, Dave carried their drinks over to the bed and sat down next to Emily as he handed her a glass. It felt overly familiar to be doing this; sitting in bed with Emily, drinking whiskey. They hadn’t been together long—nothing serious, either. Casual dating.   
  
This felt more involved; Dave thought he could grow to greatly enjoy having this with Emily. Someone to decompress _with_ after rough cases. One good, solid thing to call his own.   
  
Sipping her whiskey, Emily started at the television completely unaware of the turmoil and realization flooding Dave’s head at the moment.   
  
“Jay Leno, or David Letterman?”  
  
The sound of her voice was almost jarring, and Dave leaned back a little more against the pillows. “Leno.”  
  
Emily snorted. “Figures.”  
  
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Dave asked, feigning hurt. Emily just rolled her eyes and changed the station to NBC.   
  
The pair sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks, with nothing but the clink of ice and the laugh track from the television to break it.   
  
By the time the credits rolled, Dave’s drink was gone and he was feeling pleasantly fuzzy. Not drunk, or even buzzed, but enough to make him feel warm and contented. So he wasn’t disappointed to find that Emily had fallen asleep at some point during the show.   
  
Her glass was held loosely, tipping precariously off the edge of the bed. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Dave flipped off the television and reached over to take the glass from Emily’s hand. She made a quiet sleepy sound before rolling over onto her side and curling up against the pillows.   
  
Dave gazed at her for a few moments, taking in the line of her back as she slept, her dark hair fanned out over the crisp white pillows.   
  
Like earlier, it made his chest clench uncomfortably. He liked Emily; he more than liked Emily, the feeling starting to grow like a seed in the pit of his stomach.   
  
Tearing his eyes away, Dave set their two glasses on the table, and then reached into his pocket to pull out the little glass octopus Emily had liked so much at the fair. The glass was smooth and cool— _fragile—_ in the palm of his hand, and he tried to imagine Emily wearing the necklace.  
  
It was difficult; Dave knew her mostly in work clothes, on the job. He wanted to fix that—take her somewhere that she could wear the little orange octopus.   
  
Picking his way gingerly across the room, Dave slipped the cord of the necklace over the shade of the lamp on Emily’s bedside table. The light shone through the octopus, making it shimmer.   
  
Dave left quickly after that, wishing he could see her face when she discovered it in the morning. But it was enough to know that he would be the first thing Emily thought of when she opened her eyes.


End file.
